


color of boom

by stupidloud



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Happy Birthday Keith!, M/M, Pool Party, Post-Season/Series 03, bday bjays lmao, i love my soft angry boy, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidloud/pseuds/stupidloud
Summary: Lance’s breath hitches and smooths out, arm tightening. Keith touches his knuckles, turns his head so their noses bump. He considers counting all the freckles spread across Lance’s face until he woke up, then remembers he’s already done it. Somewhere around fifty. It's also a hell of a reach.He takes a breath to brace himself and carefully brings his hand up to cup Lance’s jaw, sweeping his thumb over his cheek bone. It doesn’t take long for him to give a small snort, eyelashes fluttering. Blink.His gaze is unfocused but he grins softly, “Good morning, birthday boy.”Keith can’t help mirroring it despite himself because it feelsso good to hear,“Hey.”✦it's keith's birthday and everything is happy and good





	color of boom

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't get to write a fic for lance because i was getting surgery (his birthday landed the day i was getting out of the hospital), so the second keith's birthday was released and i had a laptop, i started writing this. it's been, like, two months? whatever, point is, i did it. i hope yall like it, and if not that's okay, but also i'll cry so please do. i'd like to state, for the record, that i love keith kogane very very much and think he deserves everything along with everybody else. here's for season 5.
> 
> Title From: Polaroid by Imagine Dragons

The last time Keith officially celebrated his birthday, he was nine. Same goes for the last time it was with people. It was in his apartment in San Antonio, with his dad, some friends from school, and his cat. He got an art set and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars to stick on the ceiling of his room. The art set was stolen in foster home one, half of the stars in number three. He was being mostly tossed around back then because he didn’t exactly have hospital records and the government was going bat shit trying to find out who the hell this kid was. Number four and beyond were nicer.

And it wasn’t like they’d barred celebrations or anything, other kids got birthdays. But his first two years alone had been in one through three and by the time he was in five and turning twelve he’d stopped expecting anything.

With the team, it was different. Obviously.

For Hunk, Shiro, and Pidge there were fireworks and giant cakes and movie marathons (Pidge found a way to jack up the gaming console); Coran programmed the castle lights to match the paladin of the day’s colors. Hunk had cried when the mice hung up a banner with his face on it.

Lance’s birthday landed on the coattails of the lion switch and Lotor’s dramatic entrance, but they still had time for cake and movies. They fought over which color to program until Coran and Hunk found a way to alternate them between blue and purple.

Keith accidentally confessed that day, when they were the only two left watching _10 Things I Hate About You_. Which, fine, was _ironic_ , he’ll admit it. 

The point of this seemingly endless word vomit detailing his tragic backstory is distraction. Self-distraction, if that’s even a thing. Because Lance’s arm is slung over his stomach and his sleeping pulse is beating in Keith’s chest and he doesn’t want to get up. If he gets up, Lance gets up, then his birthday was in motion and he’s…

Scared.

He doesn’t know what to expect, or how to react to any of it. It isn’t that he’s opposed to it. If anything, he’s been looking forward to it after how much Lance hyped it up.

But minds are fucked and his decided he should freak out the second he woke up. Shit.

Lance’s breath hitches and smooths out, arm tightening. Keith touches his knuckles, turns his head so their noses bump. He considers counting all the freckles spread across Lance’s face until he woke up, then remembers he’s already done it. Somewhere around fifty. It's also a hell of a reach.

He takes a breath to brace himself and carefully brings his hand up to cup Lance’s jaw, sweeping his thumb over his cheek bone. It doesn’t take long for him to give a small snort, eyelashes fluttering. Blink.

His gaze is unfocused but he grins softly, “Good morning, birthday boy.”

Keith can’t help mirroring it despite himself because it feels _so good to hear_ , “Hey.”

“How long’ve you been awake?”

“Little bit,” he lies.

Lance scrunches his nose, not buying it, “I wanted to wake up before you. I wanted to wake you up.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, “And risk getting punched in the face?”

“Not the way I was gonna do it,” he mutters with a wicked glint in his eye before pulling Keith closer, kissing him firmly. Usually he would complain about morning breath and at least put on the show of pushing Lance away.

He can’t seem to find it in himself to do it now.

He turns on his side to get a better angle, carefully sliding his hand into Lance’s hair. Lance holds his hip to keep him in place. He starts massaging the hollow of it, dipping closer to his navel and _oh, okay, I get it, the thing about waking me up._

That was definitely the distraction he was looking for. And Lance was incredibly distracting.

A buzzing heat spreads through him, like static in his bones. Like he’s standing that inch too close to a burning forest, and he might be Red’s original paladin, but Lance definitely had her fire. It didn’t take long for him to learn all of Keith’s buttons and he used them without goddamn mercy.

See?

Distracting.

“Still past tense?”

Lance didn’t stop, humming when Keith tugs his hair softly, “Hm?”

“What you said. ‘S it still past tense?”

He pulls back to look at Keith, infinitely more unfocused. Keith can see him rewind, or try to, before his cheeks go pink and he gives a crooked grin, “Could be future tense,” he dips down, skimming Keith’s throat with his lips. Lance presses a little more at his hip and the buzz turns into a simmer and all Keith can do is gasp, “Could be very, _very_ near future tense.”

“That’d be good.” Lance bites down at the crook of his shoulder, lathing it with his tongue, “ _Ah_ —‘D be very, _very_ good.” He feels Lance’s smirk against his collarbone.

Keith scratches his scalp gently, trying to think back to what had been bothering him about today again, “Showers. Let’s go to showers.”

“As the birthday boy wishes,” Lance says and laughs when Keith pokes his side. He follows Keith out, tangling their fingers together. They double back because they realize they forgot essentially everything they needed to actually shower. The showers are communal, so he makes sure to turn on the lock so they don’t have another incident.

(Hunk walked in to ask Lance what his vote was for dinner and thank God for the opaque glass, because Lance had been pressed up against it, and Hunk really didn’t need to see that.)

(Lance voted sandwiches and Hunk asked where Keith was.)

(“Busy, I guess.”)

Keith turns and Lance is bouncing on his heels, the water already turned on, “Last one naked has to shampoo first.”

He raises both eyebrows, crossing his arms, “I thought it was my birthday.”

“Even birthdays can’t transcend universal rules, Keith.” He put his hands up innocently, “Sorry, I don’t make them, just enforce them.”

Keith nods once and rips his shirt over his head. Lance squawks, scrambling to push down his boxers, but by the time they hit the ground, Keith is done.

“Fucker!” Lance squawks again, kicking his shorts at him. They land a pitiful four feet away from Keith. Keith glances down at them and up. He wants to make some kind of snarky comment, but Lance is naked, and not to be repetitive or anything, but _distracting_.

The only thing he can come up with is, “Wow,” and can’t quite tell if it’s sarcastic or not.

It clicks at the same time, it seems, because Lance doesn’t keep complaining. Keith comes closer and Lance spreads his hands over his waist, unabashedly staring. Heat spreads up Keith’s face and down his spine, pooling in the floor of his stomach. Blood swirls south.

“Did I ever mention you’re extremely gorgeous,” Lance murmurs, “because I feel like I haven’t.”

Keith brings his hand up to cup his cheek, pushing at his bottom lip with his thumb, “You have.”

“Not freaking enough,” he says in the same tone and leads them inside the shower.

Lance shampoos his hair as promised, because universal rules entail so or whatever. It’s Lance’s shampoo, something tropical Keith wouldn’t touch if you held him at gunpoint, but it was Lance’s, so that trumped. His fingers are gentle, untangling and scrubbing in, and Keith swears he meant to actually shower before anything. That had been the plan.

There’s a point, though, where Lance pushes Keith’s wet bangs out of his face. He winds his fingers into them and the spray beating his back is warm and Lance’s mouth is hot. Simmer turns to boil. Keith runs his hands from Lance’s hips, up to splay on broad shoulders. Lance parts his lips and it’s a welcome invitation for Keith to dart his tongue in.

Lance groans and tugs him so their chests are flush. He can feel Lance against his thigh and his breath stutters, blunt nails scratching down Lance’s back. Lance muffles something against Keith’s lips and tilts his head back to duck down and start attacking his neck again. He kisses along his jaw, down his throat, over the bruise he’d left earlier before biting again, right below it.

He can’t help when his hips buck, grind them together or the moan that bubbles out of his throat. The slide is slick and Lance is taking him apart slowly, at his chest now, hands everywhere. His knees are shaking and they haven’t even _done anything yet_ and Keith is a _weak man._

Lance wraps an arm around his waist. His pulse is so loud in his ears he almost doesn’t hear Lance say, “I just remembered this quote by Oscar Wilde that kind of really applies to this situation.”

Keith finally surrenders and leans back against the wall, bracing one hand against the wet tile to keep him standing. He wants to ask how Lance can even _think_ right now, “Which?”

“’Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling’,” and he slides to his knees, immediately sucking kisses into Keith’s stomach. The muscles quiver and that almost dropped him. He has absolutely no _right_ to do that, then that, then _that_. He wants to say something but a loud groan comes out instead, Lance kneading his fingers into the insides of his thighs.

He looks down and Lance is looking up, eyes dark beneath his lashes. Keith mutters a curse. He risks taking one hand off the wall to thread it through Lance’s hair, shakily inhaling, “Shit.”

Lance drops a slow kiss on his hip, voice the best kind of raw, “Good?”

“Yeah,” he flickers his gaze up, swallowing hard. He was good. He was on the brink of exploding and his lungs felt like light, if that made any fucking sense, and it was so, so good. Lance was so good.

Lance kisses the tip of him and wraps his lips around it. Keith can’t close his mouth with all the noise trying to escape it. Lance takes him in gradually, so Keith can feel him hollow his cheeks and press his tongue up.

He moans, attempts to stifle it by slapping his free hand over his mouth. It does absolutely nothing because Lance echoes it and Keith _feels it_ , vibrations sending a sharp wave of pleasure up his spine. Boil to burn, from the inside out. Lance moans again and it slams him forward, as if a second away from finishing.

He continues, sucking until where he can take him, humming, grazing his bottom teeth over the heated skin. He reaches up and grabs the hand Keith is using as a muffle, hold it in his own and abruptly digs his fingers into Keith’s ass to bring him forward. If anyone was walking the hallway outside, they were probably regretting it.

Lance’s throat stuttered around him and Keith finally tugged at his hair, gathering up his voice, “ _Fuck—_ Close. Close.”

The response could be a nod, but it was mostly Lance bobbing his head, and Keith’s stomach spasms. He knows he’s close because he starts saying Lance’s name, not even bothering to choke it down. It’s fucking embarrassing but he can’t find it in himself to give a shit, let that be future Keith’s problem.

“Christ, _Lance._ ”

Lance wraps his hand around his base and the second there’s a rhythm, Keith is gone. He comes with Lance’s name on his lips and fireworks popping behind his eyes. He has to close them to calm down.

When he opens them again, Lance is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are bright, bright, blue, blue. All happy.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

All smug.

So if Keith shoves him up against the door (déjà vu) and strokes him until Lance can’t even pronounce his name, it’s entirely his fault.

 

✦

 

“So?” Lance pulls his shirt over his head and the goofy grin hasn’t left his face yet, “Best birthday ever yet, or what?”

Keith snaps the hair tie on his bun, “It’s in the running.” Lance makes a pleased noise and hands Keith his sweater. _His_ , being not Keith’s. And Keith is absolutely fine with it, but, “I thought my jacket was the most impractical piece of clothing you’ve ever encountered.”

“Which is why I’m taking it for today,” he already has it on, straightening the front. “Can’t have you cold on your birthday. I’m making a sacrifice.”

Keith raises an unconvinced eyebrow at him. Lance motions at his bun, “And you’re hair’s gonna dry weird if you leave it like that.”

“Always looking out for me,” Keith drawls, smacking Lance’s hand away when he tries to undo it. Their fingers thread together automatically. Keith lets go briefly to fit his arm through the jacket’s sleeve. Lance reaches for the bun again and Keith really does just smack it this time. They hold hands on the way to the dining room.

The lights are… nice. He’d actually thought the Castle would look terrifying in red since that was the same color of the emergency lights. They’re almost a soft pink, like a sunset. Lance presses against his side and kisses his temple. Everything bubbling up inside him is so foreign yet _home_. He’s never felt so right where he was, like he was meant to be here all along.

It is a great fucking feeling.

Hunk's the first to ambush him before they’re even inside the dining room. He gives Keith a hug and holds out his fist for a bump, smiling wide, “Happy birthday, dude.”

Keith complies, still attempting to regain his breath from the hug, “Thanks, man.”

He links his arm through Keith’s free one, walking in big strides, “I was about to go get you guys. I wanted to wake you up earlier, but Pidge reminded me you two are dating and sleeping together—“

“Hunk!” Lance voice squeaks. His hand tightens in Keith’s.

“Dude,” Hunk deadpans, pointedly raising his eyebrows at Lance’s low slung collar, “you’re seriously gonna tell me she’s wrong?”

Keith and Lance exchange a glance. No, he actually really couldn’t.

“She did us a favor,” Keith shrugs.

“Rule number two of friendship code is not discussing other friend’s sex lives while they’re not in the room,” Lance said loudly, sticking his nose in the air.

Hunk wrinkles his nose, “The alternative was me walking in on you.”

His first answer to that is that Hunk wouldn’t have seen anything since they were in the showers, but decided to keep that to himself. The dining room door was slightly ajar from Hunk’s exit. A thin stream of rosy light splayed out across the floor. His heart does a weird, cold thing. Maybe he needs another minute. Or an hour—

Lance carefully sweeps his thumb over Keith’s knuckles as Hunk opens the door with his foot, “I have Keith! You may commence breakfast!” They usually wait until everybody arrived for breakfast, birthdays were exceptions. As long as the birthday person was present, it was on.

“Finally!” Pidge shouts, her chair scraping as she stands up to run toward him. She wraps her arms around one of his like a hug before using it to pull him toward the table, “Happy birthday, idiot. Now sit the fuck down so I can shove some of those pancakes in my face.”

The nervous stutter in his pulse died down a bit. Still Pidge. All good.

Keith lets go of Hunk and Lance to let her drag him, smirking, “Are you cwanky because you’re hungwy?”

“Shut the hell up, you—“ She narrows her eyes at him. Points a warning finger, “You’re lucky it’s your birthday. I won’t say the nasty thing I’m thinking.”

“And I was so looking forward to it,” he replied dryly.

Pidge doesn’t even sit down, grabbing her plate and piling on things from the spread of breakfast in front of them. Pancakes, like she said, berries, some tubers they discovered tasted like kind of bacon when roasted, and cupcakes. It had taken a lot of trial and error, but Hunk found substitutes for standard Earth goods across the planets they visited with help from Kaltenecker. Thus, cake, thus, cupcakes.

Thus, Keith camping in the kitchen whenever he caught wind Hunk was baking on account of him being a sugar junkie. Sweet tooth was an understatement. He’d once gotten himself stuck in a sewer drain in San Antonio because his _pan dulce_ had fallen through it and he dove to catch it.

(He did, and ate it _happily_ as the emergency crew came to get him out.)

He bee lines it for the platter, taking one of each. Lance snorts loudly, sitting next to him after he finishes, “I’m sure the plate’s still got a little bit of the frosting on it if you want me to get it for you.”

“No, man, he’s gone,” Hunk’s across them, watching Pidge’s pile of food wobble precariously as she sits down.

She shoves a chunk of pancake in her cheek and points up with her knife, “Hasn’t even noticed the banner.”

The what?

Keith looks up and wonders exactly how blind he is to not notice the dark red canvas suspended over the table. _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KEIT!_ is painted in blocky white letters. There are notes he can’t read written around it, blue, green, yellow, black, purple, and orange. The blue one has tiny hearts all around it, the green a drawing of a little fanged monster. He rubs the material of Lance’s jacket between his fingers.

“We did that on purpose,” Lance says. “It’s not misspelled.”

“We were sleep deprived and he wrote the exclamation point prematurely,” Pidge explains and Keith sees a berry hit her in his peripheral.

“Stop! Discrediting me!”

“I love it,” Keith looks back and they’re all staring at him, beaming.

Hunk motions, flicking a berry into his mouth, “We couldn’t do your face because you usually do it. Pidge tried—“

“The fruit of my attempt is in your note,” she interrupts firmly. “His name is Queet and I love him.”

“You’re awake!” They all turn to look at Coran come in, “That’s unfortunate, I wanted to be here. Oh well! Happy birthday, Number Four!” He ruffled Keith’s hair as he passed behind the chair rounding to sit on the right of the empty head of the table. Keith blinks and Pidge almost chokes on her food laughing.

Lance reaches up and Keith doesn’t think for a second he was gonna fix it, confirmed when he just pulls off the hairband and messes it up even more. He stops when Keith can barely see through his bangs, making out Hunk leaning over to move a single piece to the other side.

“Perfect.”

“Yup,” Lance says, popping the p.

He combs his bangs back, glaring, “I take it back, you’re all the worst.”

Pidge waves a tuber around, “I didn’t do anything!”

“You laughed,” he shoots back.

Lance snickers, “It’s a good look, Texas. Very hillbilly chic.” And Keith scoops some frosting off the top of the cupcake he’d been eating and streaks it across the side of Lance’s face. When Lance makes small shriek, he flicks what’s left into his hair.

“It’s a good look, Little Havana,” Keith says flatly and takes a bite out of the same cupcake. Hunk starts wheezing while Coran leans over to ask Pidge what just happened.

Lance opens and closes his mouth, turning back to his food. He shakes his head slowly, “Good game, mullet. Good game.”

It’s more a whoosh than the noise of a door opening and Allura is busily trying to pile her head into a braided bun, “Please tell me there is food.”

Lance plucks up a cupcake and held it up behind him for her to take while she walked by, “Ripe for the taking, ‘Lura.”

She takes it with one hand and pats Keith’s shoulder with the other giving a, “Happy birthday,” before shoving the whole thing into her mouth. Now that he knew her more as person than princess, Keith could whole-heartedly say he and Allura had more in common than not.

Pidge was halfway done devouring Mount Holt (to their digust, because she didn’t even _chew_ ) when both doors slammed open and Matt declared, “Keith, I’m officially your new brother, since your current one is terrible.”

Obviously.

“Cool.”

“I’m willing to share,” Pidge pushed through the mass in her mouth, “as your birthday present.”

Shiro rubs at his face, “It’s too early, stop stealing my brother.”

Matt slides into his place next to Pidge, taking a piece of pancake. She barely notices. Lance snorts, “What happened?”

He flaps the pancake around, sighing, “I rather not relive it.”

“I woke him up by accident.”

“You tripped over me!”

“You were sleeping on the floor! The hallway floor!”

Matt sniffed, “Details, details.”

Shiro sits next to Keith and claps a hand on his shoulder, “Happy birthday.”

Keith gives him a cupcake.

“Now that everybody is here,” Coran claps his hands, “I have an announcement. The rally on Renego has been postponed because their planning was delayed by an unexpected storm of fire. Very minor, they have it under control, but they would prefer if we went in roughly two quintents, just to be sure.” They all kind of stilled. Pidge’s nonexistent utensils would have clinked.

Keith knew what that meant. He just had to make sure.

“So…”

Pidge continues, “That means no rally today?”

“Yes!”

“So we have a few days of free time?” Hunk says, leaning forward slightly.

“With absolutely nothing to do?” Allura finishes.

Coran nods enthusiastically, “Assume anything you ask, the answer is yes.”

_Free time?_

_Free time._

Even the thought was foreign at this point, holy shit. He doesn’t notice everybody’s eyes on him until he processes, blinks. His ears turn hot and he looks around, “What?”

Pidge points, “Birthday boy calls the shots.”

What?

“I can’t—This is our first free day in a while—“

“And we’ll spend it accordingly,” Matt says importantly, swirling his fork in the air. “Celebrating thy birth.”

Lance’s eyes are sparkling, fingers drumming excitedly on the table, “We’ll have a party.”

“A low key one,” Hunk says.

“A _lit_  low key one.”

Shiro bumps their elbows, lowering his voice as everybody else’s rise, “You want that?”

Normally, the prospect of a party would have him breaking out. He’s gotten used to banquets and all that because it was part of Voltron, and as leader he has to be at center stage, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.

This sounded good though. Just him and his family. This sounded really, really good.

“Yeah.”

Hunk snaps his fingers, “Surprise birthday party.”

Lance snorted, “It’s not much of a surprise if he’s right here, bud.”

“Hm, right.” He sinks back before sitting up, “But, hey! The surprise can be in the stuff we do!” He glances at Keith, “Give us half an hour.”

Eyes back on him. The surprise thing was kind of nerve racking, like this morning all over again.

_And how’d that turn out?_

_Great._ Perfect, _actually._

They know him. He’s been with them for close to a year. He’s… They know him.

He wills his heart rate to calm down while he says, “Yeah. Okay.”

 

✦

 

It’s a pool party. Coran had flipped the room a month ago and Keith started frequenting it more than the training room, just to clear his head. He hadn’t thought _so_ frequently anyone noticed, but they did. Hadn’t even thought of the possibility before Matt comes in a green bathing suit, chucking a towel at his face and telling him to strip, fast.

(He took off his shirt before he remembered about the hickies, but it was way too late. Matt saw, processed, and gave him a thumbs up, “Ha, nice.”)

They moved a table in with more cupcakes and hung up balloons. The banner’s half-hanging between two pillars and he notices it instantly this time. Pidge is dangling off one end, right over the pool, “You _fucker_ —“

“Call me a noodle one more time,” Lance threatens, poking at her with the stick end of the pool cleaner they’d fashioned. Hunk is carrying him so he can reach, giving Keith a short wave when he sees him. Allura and Coran are observing intently from a lounge chair, Shiro looking very tired next to them.

Pidge gives a hard kick, “ _Noodle looking—“_

Lance jabs at her and she let go to grab on so they’re both dragged down. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

Hunk watches and turns toward him, “Anyway.”

“Do you like it?” Allura pipes up, leaning forward so her braid falls over her shoulder.

The water breaks and Pidge emerges before she disappears again, angrily shrieking.

Keith nods, “Yeah.”

There’s more splashing and a, _“Goddamit_ ,” before Keith and Matt finally have to intervene and jump in to pry them apart, which just leads to them teaming up to take _them_ down because who _dared_ tell _them_ what to do. Pidge climbed up on Lance’s shoulders, fists raised, “Square up, killjoys.”

Keith pushes his hair out of his face from being dunked under, spitting water out. Matt’s doing the same, coughing.

Keith meets Lance’s eyes and Lance smirks, mouthing, _Killjoy._

_Oh, fuck no._

So it was Matt and Pidge up top, Keith and Lance on the bottom. Neither team won because Allura and Hunk made a surprise attack and became the champions by default. The chicken championship begins and Pidge goes with her brother (“Prepare for trouble!” “And make it double!”) so Lance and Keith are together. They’re a good team, better than him and Matt, since they already know the dynamic.

Lance leans a bony elbow on Keith’s head, tapping a rhythm on his ribs with the heels of his feet, “Y’know, the view from up here’s stellar. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll dunk you,” Keith says simply.

They lose. Majorly. The final score's seven to two to one. And, no, Team Rocket isn't the seven. The official winner's Team Thunder Thighs, and there is no contesting because who the fuck argues with both Hunk _and_ Allura?

(The stupid and suicidal, that’s who.)

It’s late by the time it all finishes and there’s a brief stint of devouring cupcakes before the movie. The overall catalog was shitty movies, romcoms, and shitty romcoms. There's usually three movies, but everybody’s tired so they end up with one and a half.

He’s persuaded to lay across Lance, Allura, and Hunk’s laps, in that order, with Pidge taking up the space he doesn't. Shiro, Matt, and Coran sit on the floor wrapped in blankets, nothing but the tuft of his brother’s hair showing from the back.

Lance is stroking his hair and he, Pidge, and Allura keep loudly exchanging comments about the plot and Shiro’s here, attempting to copy the love interest’s accent with Coran, and Hunk and Matt are mad because, “Why doesn’t she just get with the hot Irish guy, her husband’s _trash!”_ and it feels amazing. It’s cliché and repetitive at this point, but Keith tends to be repetitive, because it’s amazing.

This is his family, what the fuck was he so worried about?

**Author's Note:**

> dm me a story on my [tumblr](http://mcclainnkogane.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments & Kudos Are Appreciated <3


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